


Working Late

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Loneliness, M/M, Pining, Sharing a Bed, but don't be fooled this isn't fluffy, canon-typical lack of communication, episode 125 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 14:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MAG 125!!!There is still a cot set up in old document storage, for nights when it's too late to brave the streets.





	Working Late

It was late, and Jon was still in his office, working. Not that he had much to work on - there was no plan to gather information for, no goal to work towards. It had been a few days since he and Basira had managed to pull the bullet out of Melanie’s leg, and even though she was no longer overtly murderous, Jon couldn’t be in the same room as her for more than a minute without her throwing something at his head. Basira had advised him to be patient - the operation had worked, and Melanie was acting more and more like her old self as the wound healed. Soon enough the three of them would be able to talk things over, and hopefully then they could make a plan to stop the forces threatening the Institute.

Until then… Jon didn’t have much to do. He combed through various documents looking for more information on the things that were stalking them, listened to old statements for the same purpose, and occasionally read a new one that he came across in his searches. Mostly it was just passing time, running down the clock until he could reconvene with his team.

He’d been making sure to leave the Institute before sundown since he noticed the People’s Church of the Divine Host hanging around outside, but had lost track of time today, caught up in researching various battles and massacres for signs of the Slaughter. By the time he noticed how late it was it was already full dark outside, and too much of a risk to try to make it back to his flat. Even though he hadn’t yet had a direct encounter with these new threats, he didn’t want to push his luck.

Which left him with few options. He could try to sleep at his desk, though the chair got rather uncomfortable after a few hours sitting in it. He could find a more comfortable chair somewhere else in the Institute, though he didn’t like the idea of one of the regular staff finding him there - _they_ didn’t have to worry about monsters attacking them on their commute home, and even though the Archives had a weird reputation, sleeping in a public area would still raise a few eyebrows. He could, potentially, ask Basira if she had extra blankets he could borrow, and try to make some sort of bed out of those on the floor of his office, but she was probably already settled in the main Archives room with Melanie, and he didn’t want to risk a confrontation.

Or he could head to the old document storage room, and spend the night in the cot he had set up there for occasions just such as these. Which was the logical option, but… he didn’t really think of it as _his_ cot anymore. Martin had spent so long staying there throughout the whole Prentiss siege that Jon felt like it was his area, and still vaguely expected to find him in there if he went looking. He had gone looking when he first returned, but had avoided the place since he had run into Martin. Basira had said Martin wasn’t staying in the Archives, but even so… if Martin didn’t want to talk to Jon, then Jon wasn’t going to try to chase him down, and the association between “Martin Blackwood” and “old document storage” was strong enough that it felt like the same thing.

Still. It was that or sleep in a chair.

There was still a section of wall that didn’t match the rest of the room, where Tim had broken through from the tunnels so long ago. It brought an unexpected lump to Jon’s throat. So much had happened in this room. The wall was the only trace that remained, but memory provided meaning to other landmarks - the window, from which they had watched Tim nearly die. The corner where Martin had stashed his composition books, and the trash can Jon had found that letter in. The cot where Jon had collapsed, worms in his legs, needing a corkscrew to save him. Where the corkscrew had fallen when Sasha -

Jon shook the memories away. That was an old grief he still hadn’t fully processed, and now was not the time to face it. He climbed into the cot, half expecting the sheets to retain some trace of Martin’s scent - tea and wool sweaters, for some reason that had stood out amidst the chaos of Prentiss at the door - but they just smelled of dust and disuse. He shifted gingerly onto his side to avoid putting pressure on his arm. It still throbbed from the vicious cut Melanie had given him, but it was a fair price to pay if it meant they got her back.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep.

~~~~~

Martin wandered along the corridor, heading for the old document storage room. It was dark out, and late, and far too dangerous to head home tonight. Melanie and Basira had cots set up in the Archives proper, but he had been avoiding them, leaving for his flat most nights before the sun set. On nights like tonight, when he lost track of time, there was still the cot in old document storage - no one was likely to bother him there.

He opened the door and froze. Jon was curled up on the cot, face buried in the pillow, clutching the blankets around himself. One arm remained above them, and the edge of a bandage poked out from under his sleeve. His brow was furrowed, and Martin could see his eyes moving under the lids, darting back and forth in restless dreams.

Oh. Hell. This was… unexpected. It really shouldn’t have been, given that Jon was in just as much danger from the things that were stalking the Institute as the rest of them - possibly more, given that his powers made him a target. But still, Martin hadn’t expected to find him here. Jon could be dangerously stubborn sometimes, and Martin had assumed he was risking the streets to sleep in his own flat at night. He must, like Martin, have lost track of time until after the sun set and it was too late.

Martin bit his lip, considering his options. He couldn’t leave the Institute, it was too dangerous. There had to be a comfortable chair he could curl up on somewhere, but could he find one somewhere where no one would find him?

Jon twitched in his sleep, and Martin sighed, a now-familiar loneliness washing over him as he watched. It was important, what he was doing, working with Peter for the good of the Institute - but he missed being part of a team. He wished he could tell Jon - and Basira and Melanie - what he was doing, but he knew they would want to help him and it… it was just too dangerous. Better to keep his distance, work on his own and avoid them when he could.

He turned to leave, pulling the door shut behind him - and froze again as the previously silent hinges let out a loud shriek of protest at being moved. Another, slower, step, and the hinges were silent, but -

“Martin.”

Jon’s voice was raspy with sleep. Martin stayed where he was, but didn’t turn around. He couldn’t face Jon now, couldn’t face the guilt and longing that being around him brought - but he also couldn’t leave. Jon sounded so… vulnerable. And Martin, fool that he was, still felt his heart flip whenever Jon said his name.

After a moment, Jon spoke again, still soft. “Martin, I - I’m sorry. W- whatever I did that made you hate me - whatever I did to hurt you - I’m so sorry.”

Martin swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to keep his voice even as he replied. “I don’t hate you, Jon. I’ve just -” he trailed off, unsure how to continue. I’ve just been unable to face you, halfway in love and knowing you don’t feel the same? I’ve just been protecting you, because it’s safer if you don’t know what I’m doing? I’ve just been trying to save everyone’s goddamn lives, so cut me some slack for not being around much? I’ve just -

“You’ve been busy.” There was nothing accusatory in Jon’s voice, just a quiet sadness.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Martin could hear Jon shifting, sitting up in the bed, and he knew he had to cut this short before he was drawn into a conversation he wasn't ready to have.

“Look, Jon, I should go, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He was halfway out the door again before Jon could speak, but allowed himself the luxury of letting the word stop him in his tracks. He needed this conversation to end, but a small, selfish part of him also needed to talk to Jon - to be reminded what he was fighting for.

“Wait.”

“Jon, I really don’t have time -”

“You can’t go out there, it’s too dangerous.”

Martin had expected a barrage of questions about where he had been and why, not… this. “What?"

“You can’t leave the Institute.” He heard Jon shift again, and there was urgency in his voice. “I’ve seen cultists around, Martin, from the People’s Church, and it’s pitch dark out there. You can’t -”

“I’m not going to leave the Institute, Jon. I’ll just - find an armchair, or something.”

“Take the bed.”

Martin laughed at that. “Jon, I’m not going to kick you out of bed. You need sleep too.”

“Not as much as you. I haven’t been -” he sighed. “There’s not actually much for me to do around here at the moment, Martin. You’ve been busy, you need sleep. I’ll make due tonight and set up another cot in my office tomorrow, so this doesn’t become an issue again.”

Martin closed his eyes, sighing. It was true, he did need sleep, and would get more rest here than in a chair somewhere - but keeping Jon healthy was a deeply ingrained instinct, and unless something integral to his personality had shifted over the course of his six-month coma, the man _never_ slept.

“I’ll be fine, Jon. Just go back to sleep.”

There was something almost desperate in Jon’s voice as he made his final offer. “We could just share the bed.”

Martin whipped around in shock, facing Jon for the first time in this whole conversation. He was sitting on the edge of the cot, blanket half falling off his lap. In the faint light streaming in from the hallway, Martin could see the flush rising in his cheeks.

“Not - not like _that,”_ he said. “Just - there’s enough room, you can take one side, I’ll take the other, and then we can both get a good night’s sleep.”

Martin needed to say no. Even if he weren’t trying to minimize the time he spent around people, sharing a bed with the person you have feelings for was _never_ a good idea. Add to that the fact that Jon would most likely take the opportunity to pry into what Martin’s been busy with...

“Look, I won’t bother you, I won’t ask what you’ve been doing. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I won’t even talk at all, if you don’t want me to. I just -” he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just logical, Martin. It’ll only be for tonight.”

And Martin couldn’t say no to that, no matter how much he ought to, not with the weariness that pulled on his bones and the sad, tired look in Jon’s eyes.

“Alright.” He nodded, and tried to ignore how warm his chest felt when Jon smiled at him.

There were a few awkward minutes as they both settled into the cot, trying to get comfortable without disturbing each other. They eventually settled back-to-back, with Jon still facing the door so as not to lay on his injured arm - and Martin would have loved to ask about that, but he knew he couldn’t ask questions without answering them in turn.

Martin had settled on the very edge of the cot, trying to leave some space between himself and Jon, but it was small enough that there wasn't much he could do. After a few minutes he felt Jon shift, rolling over slightly so that his shoulder was pressed against Martin’s back. Martin took a deep breath, forcing himself not to lean back into the contact. Jon was just trying to get comfortable, after all. There was no reason to believe the deep sigh and sudden release of tension from his body were anything more than normal preparations for falling back asleep. Certainly not relief from the assurance that Martin was nearby.

Jon fell asleep soon after. Martin lay in the dark listening to the gentle rhythm of his breathing for a long time, committing this feeling of closeness and companionship to memory.

~~~~~

By the time Jon woke up the following morning, Martin was already gone. He would almost have believed the whole encounter had been a dream, were it not for the faint scent of tea lingering on the sheets.


End file.
